


Cage

by HeviMetal



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:36:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7345168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeviMetal/pseuds/HeviMetal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa had wanted her life exciting like the stories her mother often told. And what if they came true? What if she found conflict and honour? Adventure and the new life she craved--the only problem is, will it be what she had always wanted? Or will she become another bird in a cage...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Made this a prologue. Ch.1 will be better. Promise

( I )

She sighed at her reflection. 

Prints of poppies against winter white brocade swaying from side to side did little to distract her from depressing thoughts. 

Change was something she always believed in. A destiny which paved greatness in her life. Somehow, somewhere down the dull path of her boring, average existence, a knight in shining armor would appear. A conflict of some sort to fall her virtuous soul and give rise to chivalry in one romantic battle to win the war over her heart and become queen of a single man's soul. It may be unrealistic, but it was a necessity she held tightly to. Stories of valorous men built the very foundation of expectation. Sansa Stark had decided since youth should a man enter her life, he would be someone strong, brave, and handsome, just like the man in her poster. His jaw strong, his eyes true, and preaching one-liners so smooth he could contend with a Shakespearean character. Although Lucius Hadden had been her favourite actor due to his role as King Arthur in recent films, enough so to put him on the wall next to her bed, that was his only role she cared to recognize. 

On nights when her mind ran miles winning against serotonin, she fantasized how puppy love and pretty dresses would be like; something other than nosy brothers and a boyish sister, an over protective mother and a silly doting father. In reality, her family embarrassed her, so much so that it seemed her opportunity at love would be as slim as her experiences-- anorexic. 

A knock at her door snapped Sansa back to reality and exaggerated a groan: what do you want?

“Your friends are here milady.”

Immediately she panicked. It was ten steps to the door—Sansa accomplished it in two. Swinging the door wide open, the young woman searched down each hall hoping no one unrelated had been around, or worse, listened. Relief came at the sight of cloud gray walls and ancient faced portraits, it was just her and the family's servant; agitation, however, did not ease. 

“Tell them five minutes” she ordered “I need to put my shoes on.”

Image is crucial to a young woman. It is with her image she can manage to command a nation, destroy the friendship of men, and gain the attentions of all genders, just like Cleopatra. To rise high on the social ladder of popularity, this is her daily goal. Fortune helped, it is to be expected of the governor's daughter, but it would mean nothing if she could not play the part of beauty, wealth, intelligence. And true to her word, the future appeared to her friends fashionably late. 

 

( II )

At the mall, Sansa and her friends each picked out something fun, something new, something they would wear to the club everyone had been talking about around campus. 

Pictures, tweets, snap-chats, social media was alive! A place where you can really let loose, have a few and leave wanting more, the town had been abuzz about Cage. Supposedly it opened years ago, but since owners had changed within the last month, so too did the atmosphere. Ages ranging from university students to the middle-aged, Cage seemed to be a place which held no prejudice to it's guests. 

“I heard it's a front. That the club is just a cover for what's actually going on. Supposedly disappearances have been going on, drugs are sold, and women used like cheap whores. My dad is a cop and he and his colleagues always talk how one day they will get the evidence to shut it down. Isn't that scary? Personally, I don't want to be involved in that.”

“Scary or exciting! Hardly anything happens in this town, and now finally we have something. What do you think Sansa?”

Sansa didn't have an answer. To be frank, she hardly paid any attention to what her friends had been gossiping about. A placid haired man just beyond the counter whom smiled so sweetly owned her focus—he had potential to be someone; if only he wasn't an employee. 

“Yeah” the young woman muttered “More importantly, what time are we going?”

“You still want to go even after hearing that?” concerns of a friend questioned.

Doubt had her mistrust her friend's judgement and silly accusations about the establishment. Clearly she had never been familiar with the word 'rumor' unlike her reputation. 

“Don't be silly, it's nothing more than a rumor. Besides don't you want to know what its like there? I feel like we are the only girls at our university who haven't gone, and I will be damned if Gina has gone before me.”

Gina Long was something like kryptonite to Sansa, a bathtub of water to a cat, her rival. She had confidence like no other. Gina didn't need to announce herself walking into a room, her attitude alone did it all. It was annoying and admirable all the same. It was something she silently respected about her aside from wavy dark tresses. 

It was finally their turn to check out and pay the damage. Good—there was so much to do to get ready for the evening. Even if her friends bailed, though she doubted they would, Sansa was determined to keep her title Lady of Winterfell, a title she earned respectably by the neighboring towns praising her parents since she could attend galas on their daughter's beauty and grace; the town's beauty. Besides, any longer spent at the store talking none-sense and maybe she would have gone to the flirty eyed boy and give him a chance to have her number.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a little more into the story now. This is the real Ch.1. I went back and made the previous upload a prologue. Nevertheless, please enjoy, and feel free to comment! Thank you kindly.

( I )

Finally they are gone. 

From the window Sansa watched cars pass them by. It was rush hour. She didn't need to look at the clock, though had she, her assumption would be confirmed. Everyday at five o'clock was hell. Inching along the road no faster than a snail, bumper to bumper, all with a linear thought—how much longer—before reaching home. Traffic, or traffuck as she appropriately called it, had been the number one reason she wanted to leave the mall after their shopping. Her friends insisted they stay; the youngest of them, and coincidentally the shortest, had been so proud of the clothes she bought, she just had to change at least the top and strut around in it; to parade something wonderful about herself aside from her great personality. Sansa found it shameful. It was tacky in her opinion, and perhaps it is the snobby side of a rich girl, not quite understanding how clothes can transform someone's outlook of themselves, but it didn't matter, not when she knew no matter what she wore it was always on point.

When they finally arrived at the gates, Sansa dialed a number on her phone to open them. Normally anyone would need permission to get buzzed in, just like they would if it were a flat or gated community, but the Stark house being her home negated the necessity to despite its generous size.

Built nearly three centuries ago, the Stark household had been a proud monument of Winterfell. Those who traveled through, often took a gander at it's presence, wealth, and for enthusiasts, its architecture. It had an archaic charm to it. Something slightly Gothic with it's columns and stone walls as if a pirate crew and their cohorts had stashed something beautiful, valuable in impenetrable walls. Her father, Ned, had inherited it the day he had become governor of the town. The family was no stranger to outsider curiosities or photography, most seemed to make it a focal for postcards; a warm invitation to meet the family in the North. 

“Ten. Don't forget.” Sansa reminded them standing outside.

“We'll be here! Just be sure you are ready to go wild.” A promise her freckled friend winked in an attempt to be cute. 

“Yeah—sure.”

Bags in hand, Sansa was more than relieved to be out of the car; to retreat back to her room where Hadden is holding a smile for her welcome. She waved her friends goodbye and watched them leave until the sedan was out of sight. 

In her head she counted the steps, there are approximately five of them before the door. Five seconds was all it took for her to evade yet another crafty trap her youngest sister loved to build. Honestly, no boy would think twice about dating an ape—not a girl who preferred dirt over poise or rubber bands for small ribbons; Truly Sansa pitied Arya. 

But it didn't mean she had a tolerable bone in her body.

“Mom! Stop Arya from setting traps! I swear she confuses people for rabbits. Next thing you know she will be cutting our feet off to wear around her hip or sell to her nasty little friends calling them charms. I will not be their ornament!”

Of course, no one responded. More times than not, Sansa felt invisible to her family. Every time a situation had arisen which was granted her most alert attention, no one seemed to bother. Even her mother stopped punishing her wrong doers and instead went to eye rolling. And her father? Forget it. Perhaps in front of their mother he was a stern parent, however if she wasn't present you could see the torn expression on his face not sure whether he should punish or praise. In Sansa's mind, he seemed to favour her ape-ish sister. 

Thankfully for her, and her family's sanity (and ears), the waltz of flowers came on. 

“Hello?” she answered her phone quickly retreating for privacy. 

“Sansa! Whats up?” It was her freckled friend.

“Nothing, you called me, what do you want?”

“I'm feeling kind of bummed out you know. I heard today there is a special event at the club today and I can't go.” Sansa remained quiet knowing her friend is a talker. “It's celebrating the Spring Solstice and I heard there will be people coming from everywhere! Even Kings Landing!!” 

Instantly her interest piqued. Kings Landing is known for many things. Aside from their golden haired Governess and her handsome children, their wealth is second to none. The power they command is immense. Those whom are their friends consider themselves fortunate, whilst the opposite may feel comfortable pushing daises six feet under. 

“You're joking.”

“No I'm not! Everyone is going to be there! I really want to go!” her friend sighed “What I wouldn't give! ”

“Why can't you?”

“My family decided they are going out of town for the weekend and said I would have to go or else they won't pay for tuition anymore. I don't know about you, but I can't afford that.”

“You could earn it like one of 'those girls'”

“Yeah—no, not only am I not that talented enough, I wouldn't disgrace myself like that either. Can you imagine the things those girls have to do to make money? It's disgusting! Just think about all the nasty old men...the fat ones, the hairy ones, bald ones, ugly ones, ones that don't tip enough and make you feel uglier than you must already feel to do what you are doing. Like you aren't good enough even naked? That's sad!” there was a second of silence. She thought a lot on this subject Sansa deduced. “But will you promise to tell me everything about it? Gina is going to be there too from what I heard. You'll be a hit though, she isn't even as tall as you.”

“So my height is my only redeeming quality?”

“No, but you get what I mean. I gotta go though, my parents are about ready to hit the road. I just wanted to call and give you a heads up. Im so jealous. I'll talk to you later.”

“Ok, have fun on your family vacation” Sansa teased and hung up. Not much after, she received a text while about ready to shower and was informed her mission would be solo. 

( II )

Sansa is unbelievably stubborn.

Two minutes ago she is arguing with her mother.. 'I'm an adult' was her rebuttal. Her mother, Cat, didn't believe it one bit. Not in this life or her next would she allow her first daughter to be foolish. It was too late, she had already been down the pavement and in a car driving furiously away. Unfortunately music could not tame the wicked storm brewing—the storm known as Sansa Stark. There was so much she wanted to evade; tears, redness, a snotty nose, if only her mother would just trust her! How could she stand in her way towards a bright future? This was not her first rodeo with the maternal Stark. Endurement suggested her options would be challenged as it had in the past towards the eldest Baratheon's party, a tea ceremony with Cersei, and the utter refusal to participate in her half-brother's fencing tournament; it could be agreed, however, that Cat herself was not quite fond of her husband's bastard son, still embodiment must be maintained, a fact her daughter would need to attain should her desires for status be accomplished. Sansa's bullheadedness was horrid then, continuously now. Patience is what has her mother deny calls to stop her daughter, allow her own scruples to condemn. Later she will cry and want comforting—it's responsibility of a mother to let her chick fly and catch when she falls to soothe those weeping wounds. 

That was all it took for her to arrive at the club in no time, make-up retouched, hair smooth. There had been a line, long and full, wrapped half way around the building with all types, shapes, and fashions of people hugging it's red-brick walls. There hardly were any lights which implied it was active, however the neon illumination of a cage coloured the young, old, the unbelievably beautiful and ratchet cheap in a baby blue hue. It was simple in every design, yet sent the message it needed to. 

It must be true, there had to have been a hundred or so people here. If not for the measure of bodies or subtle reflections of shadows dancing every so often once the door opened, Sansa wouldn't have believed her friend's information. But it was loud, packed, and she was feeling most agitated at the thought of waiting in line. The Stark-girl figured herself above that and decided to contest it. 

Of course there had to be two burly men, one stereo-typically bald and ox-like big sandwiching with his partner a much tinier woman holding a checklist. This celebration must be worth it if names had been listed and bribes offered as she had recently witnessed by a weasel looking man hoping it would get him somewhere if the mention of his 'dick' hadn't. The bouncers did nothing about it, but the woman had in the sweetest way possible. She smiled, pocketed his money and grabbed him by the scruff threatening where she thought he could shove it. Immediately she believed the bouncers were for decorum, similar to the gas lit lamps popping on each side of the door. Not only did the small figure give her hope for women and remind her of her ape-sister, hesitance surfaced on levels of success. The real obstacle was not the line or time—it is that woman and the question: what it would take to grant access? Sansa respected her attitude so much despite her poor taste in lack of colour. 

“Your name?”

“Sa—Sansa Stark”

“Not on the list. To the back of the line” said rehearsed words without looking away from the clipboard. The woman had been all too familiar with this small game. 

“I'm a guest!” nervousness quickly blurted.

“A guest?” the all black wearing woman finally looked up and Sansa really got to see how she fair physically. Her eyes are dark, sharp, an exact replica of the dramatic wings from drawn eyeliner. She didn't wear much make-up, she hardly needed to against bronze skin. She is beautiful—deadly; would this set up the stage for the rest of the people working inside? Was their backbone just as hard? 

“Yes” Carefully Sansa chose her words; she had to, it was like looking into the eyes of a viper. “I am with a group here.”

“Is that so? And which 'group' would that be little lady?”

“The Lannisters.” Confidence did not echo in her voice, this serpent woman could possibly taste it on her forked tongue when slithered it out to lick her lips. 

“But I see the Lannisters are all here.” she smiled “Are you by chance, lying to me to get in? Because if you are I guarantee you won't be granted access. You can wait in line like the rest of them, or, LEAVE.”

Sansa was about ready to throw a fit. Not the hysterical kind she shared with her mother or brothers or sister, but the one which had been reserved to when she got cornered. She was beginning to feel embarrassed, feeling a little foolish for thinking she could just strut in perfectly fine and be given the world as so many had done before. Worse—Gina had been in line the entire time witnessing the transgression and dared to call her name out as she is merely two people away from entering. The rumors would begin already, she could hear them clearly in mockery: 'Sansa is no one. She can't even get into a club and she tried to lie her way in. What a terrible girl. She can never be trusted'. Again she wanted to cry, to run away and prove to her mother she was that foolish girl her mother harked about previously. The clouds of reality, specifically the future were becoming a miasma, a poison which robbed her lungs of breathe and nearly strangled threatening tears to drop. 

This is it. 

And suddenly there is silence. A small nod from the bouncers and a light tap to extract the tiny woman's attention. They whisper into her ear, one by one, and Sansa is shaking with fear. 

“Alright, you're in.” says the woman and steps to the side with enough room to allow a body through. 

She couldn't believe it. Something didn't seem right. The people of Winterfell would do plenty for her; open doors, offer a drink, pay a tab, but whatever power thwarted machinations had been an unfamiliar one, invisible. Quite literally so. Considering the affair transpired, none had stepped forward to fit the bill or come across as someone in control other than the woman herself. Perhaps a change of heart? Sansa doubted it. She knew nothing of this woman, yet felt she knew enough to comprehend her egregious nature—she is the unforgiving type. 

One of the men adjusted his earpiece. A simple gesture, but one Sansa took as a sign to get a move on before the woman changed her mind. It's then she concluded it's the voice making all the magic happen. 

( III )

Inside is gorgeous, a snippet of inspiration pulled right out of a Bruegel Jan painting. The Garden of Eden with the Fall of Man, the piece which associated its likeness to emerald velveteen walls and accents of wild animals; Noble horses, fearsome predatory cats, and curious goats, though their numbers pale in comparison to all the various avian claiming dominance in contrast. Complex chandeliers borrowed from Roman cathedrals dropped tears of glass and gold fluorescence in a sensual glow while gilded portraits of scenic paintings transformed the establishment into a museum instead of a club. The music, however ridiculously loud, gave incline to think otherwise. Furthermore, exotic birds perched on bars, poles, and cages danced agreeably with their hips on beat. They were hypnotizing, far more pleasing than the those dancing in a way which could be described as dry humping or too much liquor to care. 

The further she traversed, the more sequestered she felt from society. To say the least, this place is weird, and perhaps it is this oddness that kept groups segregated among themselves. Whatever the reason it may be for them, there was no one for her to attach to, save for Gina, but Gina could go get lost somewhere far away for all she cared. The only sensible thing to do at the moment would be to get a drink. She recalled seeing the bar. Recalled its copper top repeating the same glittering glow from liquor bottles stacked behind. 

“A cider please”

“Sure, want to start a tab or close it out?”

Sansa didn't hesitate to relate her choice to the bartender: keep a tab. She figured her night would heavily be influenced on its companionship. 

She sipped through her first glass pretty easily, then the second. Despite her figure and innocent depiction, there had been a pro to growing in a household with men. Ned often kept his whistle wet with his sons, spending nights telling stories about himself growing up or their deceased aunt and her bravery. Of skirmishes young lads get to noticing the lasses or rivalries among others stepping into what they claimed as their territory; young stupid foolish things. The fatherly Stark never kept his daughters out of loop. He would allow them to indulge in festivities and spirits, but once their Uncle showed unannounced, he would bade they leave. They didn't fear their Uncle, on the other hand, they feared what their father would do to him as Ned was known for keeping peace together when his brother got out of hand. Due to this, and other events, her tolerance was strong as a veteran. 

By her third, she embraced the warmth which seeped to her finger tips; Not drunk, slightly tipsy, her next move would be to sit where her posture slumped sloppy in the seat. She wasn't quite impressed with the club, but she wasn't disappointed. There was no one she recognized, assuming the Lannisters and Baratheon children left, she instead enjoyed the atmosphere for what it was worth. 

What a pity she hadn't ran into them sooner, maybe they would have allowed her to join them, but it wasn't a total loss. At least from where she sat and her head angled just right,she could see precisely how breathtaking the mural on the ceiling was, as if it were heaven. There were more birds. Song birds, birds of paradise, tiny humming birds, and obnoxious big ones, so many she thought maybe she may see one she hadn't observed before. And there had been. Shortly trailing the wing span of an arctic owl, her eyes fixated on a unique shade of dark and light topaz. They too had been staring back at her doubtlessly participating in contemplation. She soon realized it is a man and no bird. Who are they? And what are they doing there? The further she tried to analyze, the more possessed she seemed to be. It had to have been more than seconds their staring endured, for another song transitioned on and different coloured lights brought more about his face. They hardly moved; he from his perch and her from the chair forgetting her warm drink now until a living bird questioned if she wanted another. It took a moment before cognizance registered and by the time she had muttered a drawn 'Yes', the man from above was gone. 

Who was he? Sansa was tempted to ask the bar tender at her return to pay out the tab, but was surprised to learn it was taken care of. When she insisted whom was responsible, a first for herself to acknowledge the indebted, the answer was linear: the owner.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting them to meet, from here on out it will be fun.

A massacre will happen today. Hundreds, thousands of beans sacrificed in a disturbing offering to please thirsty Gods. Their blood, bitter and fragrant and potent, will sate an obnoxious deity and save the maiden life of one destined from wrath. That is the plan, what was intended. 

And yet it could not be any farther from the truth.

Sansa was comfortable in her seat pressed against the wall far from other patrons. In reality, this is what she wanted—peace. Time to her thoughts, herself, and brew on emotions currently felt from one evening to the next. Retrospection swirled hazy clouds from her coffee cup as she relished the liveliness of those walking objectively near the quaint shop; far away from home—away from Catelyn Stark. 

How unsettling candid intentions should crumble. Not she or anyone could control it. Not angry, screeching wails bellowed by a matriarch or the lack of protection warm vanilla scented sheets offered. It didn't matter how much resistance her cocoon shielded words, the women in the Stark family shared a direct vein from wrath; sweet Sansa was no exception. Before long, remorse is the fashioned bonnet upon her auburn head and choices previously made, if only avoidance, guaranteed this Sunday morning undesirable. She could wager the rest of her family would have benefited from peace. But it was too late, for peace fluttered out the open window like her lacy curtains.

“I don't know what to do with you!” Cat began “I told you not to go and still you ignored me completely! What if something happened to you? How would your father and I know, how would we know where you were taken to, or worse, raped or killed! I don't know about your father, but I assure you your mother would rot her life in prison for killing the man that murdered her daughter if they could catch me.” A suggestion the Stark girl thought carefully on, was her mother insane? “You're such a sweet girl. There are so many bad people in this world whom are ugly enough to destroy all the goodness in you.”

“Mother” stirred Sansa “Nothing happened. It couldn't have, I didn't stay for very long.”

“Long enough to come home smelling like alcohol!” Cat's open hands pushed down on air as if it would bring her to a higher zen-like plane “--but I know you wouldn't lie, even though you've greatly upset me, you wouldn't do anything you think is wrong. You're an honest girl.”

That was the end of it—or what she cared to recount. The rest of their conversation was dull. Cat's acknowledgment towards her daughter's judgment was a turning point and an end she recognized. There after, it was mostly silence, the decision to leave, and coffee the ultimate presidency over family breakfast. Despite butting heads nearly every turn, Sansa favoured her mother. She is strong, resilient, unfazed by threats, characteristics often associated with heroines in tall tales or of boundaries owned and broken. Catelyn Stark is a revolutionary woman, someone whom saw beyond oppression and advocated change for the better—a seeker of justice. She understood why so many little girls liked their governess. After all, who wouldn't be a better role model than a fearless woman who understood what it took to survive and remain morally respected. 

Morals—it's all anyone ever cares for. Be damned if you look slightly different, believe in something other than what's socially accepted, or despicable—an unchanging event to tarnish a soul and their name—it's blasphemous to the majority; and that is nearly implying no Gods would bother acknowledgment. Thoughts such as these only make her chug coffee down faster till nothing is left and justification to return home is sought by time told on a phone.

Interrupting bells broke accounts. 

The name alight was her freckled friend—one of them she pondered previously on. She wagered the purpose of her call was to collect; a promise made before hanging up the other night. Admittedly, she hadn't expected it would be so soon, but the distraction is welcomed.

“Hey.”

“Oh my gosh Sansa, What did you do?”

The excitement blindsided her, which had been twice in one day; desperately she wished no more. “I woke up, argued with my mother, and currently trying to drink coffee?”

“No no, I mean last night, what did you do?”

“I went to the club, had a few drinks, and left.”

“Unless you're holding back some details, that's not what's being circulated.”

 

She sighed. Of course today would be a challenge, it started that way didn't it? Makes sense the theme is likely to continue. 

“I don't understand what you're talking--”

“It's everywhere online. About you getting into Cage with no problems.”

“So what? I was welcomed in.”

“That's not it Sansa. Apparently you and your family are suspected in connection with all the disappearances.”

“Where did you even get that? It's bogus!”

“There are reports that you walked right into the club without waiting in line. Not even the Lannisters or Baratheons got that treatment. Worse—there are witnesses to it, and one of them came out clean about the story online.” 

Sansa thought hard, deeply absorbed in every detail, reliving last night through the crowds like they were animations of a pop up book. Everyone was strangers there. She recalls the disappointment which befell her when she realized this and made the choice to drink. No one there would have cared what she did, or even who she was; none except for--- “Gina!” Gina had been in line waiting to get inside for who knows how long, and openly expressed pride at the Stark girls near embarrassment. She was the only one whom could fit the bill. Oh, but there was also that man. The one whose eyes bore through her soul and stole every bit of muscle memory to move or say 'hello'. What about him? She considered his hand dealt in this rumor; perhaps they had met before, a suitor or caller who hope to win her attentions but dearly ignored out of disinterest. No—that couldn't be, her memory was like a ravens, descriptive, unambiguous.

“You think it's Gina?”

“Maybe--” hesitation slipped not quite sure of her ability “--there was someone there whom I've never seen before or met. Or maybe we have, but his eyes were hard to look away from.”

“Oh Sansa please tell me what happened?” the fear was real from the other-side. 

“I didn't want to wait in line to get inside, so I lied to the bouncers saying I was with the Lannisters. The woman at the door, she called out my bluff and when I looked around, Gina was there just two people away from entering and made fun of me calling out my name. I was sure the woman was going to toss me out like she had done to the man before me that tried to trick her, but she hadn't. The two men behind her whispered something and suddenly her mind was changed. She let me in as if everything between us never happened.” She paused for a sip of coffee; the energy awfully needed “You wouldn't believe how gorgeous it is inside, like a painting. It could honestly be a museum during the day when it's not a club. The people that worked inside, mostly women, were all dressed as birds and they danced in between crowds and even in cages. But none of the people you or I thought were there. They probably left early, but I didn't want to leave right away since it cost too much trouble to get in and to do so would have been a waste. So I bought a few drinks, sat back and relaxed, watched everything around me. The ceiling to that place is fantastic! I've never seen one quite like it and really fit the aesthetic of the place. There were so many birds painted above... And that is when I saw him. A man staring down at me just as I was up at him. We never said a word, but just looked.”

“That's all?” 

“Yeah...That's all. Someone came in front of me, asking if I wanted another drink, but when they left that man was gone. The strange thing is when I left to pay, it had been taken care of.” 

“Normal, that usually happens to you. But no offense, that's a little creepy. Do you think that man is involved with the crimes that are attached to him or that place?”

“I don't know... but he didn't seem threatening, just—there.” 

“It's hard to tell who is behind these rumors just from that, but I'm betting it is Gina since you and her have a long rivalry. At any rate, you need to be careful Sansa, your family is now on the radar and anything could happen.”

“I will, you be careful too. I'll talk to you later, I'm going to finish my coffee and then head home later.”

The prospect of danger wasn't alien. She had encountered it before, once as a child made an object of man's greedy desires for riches—the evil sort. Their process was typical, a nod perhaps respected to fables starting with a threat sent via letter and demands for large amounts of money deposited into secure accounts; In exchange, her life would be unharmed and never trifled with in the future. Those men were as stupid as their plan, had they any clue of her parentage, insight would have relinquished them a free life beyond metal, but they weren't smart. They were dumb and blind and not even a day later, had they been found, arrested, and left to draft future heists with those whom may or may not respect their space. The next had come later in her blooming teenage years. A boy in her class as handsome as they came, made flirtatious advances, sought attention, dazzled her with pretty words in poems and songs. He was crafty—a clever one baiting her with fantasy-like pretenses. Unfortunately, it was about the only thing pretty about him; the rest was as hideous as his intentions. Locked in a gym imprisoned under bleachers, her face remembered the undaunted smell of stale sweat and his weight pressed down on to her so late in the day it was a solid given no one would hear her yell. All those pretty sweet things he once recited like a lover standing under hanging mistletoe were cut clean off by hideous words, and revealed their true nature as what they were—a parasite; one that attaches itself to a host in hopes to drain it's life. In his case, slander the name of Sansa Stark as a whore, a slut, and if he were the only man whom would gallantly take her hand in his, then she would forever be saved and he to become a hero. Surely it would have been a remarkable story told one day to her kids if the media hadn't, but it was as it is—a foolish dream that bleed with his nose. She may not be strong like her brothers physically, but Sansa hardly gave up on herself. Thankfully, false assumptions led to his capture and not only had the school suspended him, but the shame his family felt, in addition to threats against them, forced a new location for he and his family to seek. 

Sansa sighed. 

Her thoughts were becoming more depressing by the minute. Maybe it wasn't so wise to return home after all, a simple deduction she concluded standing. Honestly, she could do with roasted hazelnut wafting dreamily against her face and there really was no rush for her to do anything as nothing had been planned. Why not? Her shoulders seemed to say in their shrug, a second cup wouldn't hurt and some vigor did sound enticing. She indulged a little and left to retrieve cup number two. Busy as the little cafe was becoming, she didn't find it necessary to mark her spot with her coat or anything; she believed if the spot was gone then it was gone; she could go elsewhere on the chess-like patio if need be. There honestly is no loss and her mind had been made up the moment her mouth watered thinking on the smell.

Unsurprisingly, as she opened the door to return outside, her prediction was more accurate than any of those Miss Cleo's as seen on T.V. There, seated pleasingly comfortable facing the crowd, sat a figure with short dark hair wearing a clean suit jacket. A man, she assumed, deducing gender from what detail gathered, was alone at the table sitting opposite of her empty chair; not even his feet had been propped up against them, a nasty forming habit. 

Two seconds pass and Sansa hadn't moved since she stopped. She stared at the head, pondering if this clue meant she needed to leave and take her thoughts elsewhere, but a wild idea came to mind. Sometimes even peace came in the form of things strange—why not a stranger? She didn't need courage to speak in her approach, yet it didn't hide the timidness in her voice. 

“Excuse me.”

“Yes” the head with a male voice responded. 

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

She smiled sheepishly to herself. Sansa felt slightly foolish for troubling herself over trifle stupid things, to think rejection would be the answer as if the table was hers to begin with. Sansa thanked the stranger from behind and swiftly took a seat in front of him. Her smile lingered, and when she met his face, it never changed.

“Hello—I umm—want to thank you for keeping my seat vacant.”

“It was yours was it? I apologize for occupying your table if so. I saw an empty seat and took it for my own without a second thought.”

“Oh not it's alright” her laugh is slightly embarrassed “It wasn't really mine to begin with”

“True—it belongs to the cafe in reality, but then, that would mean you didn't have to ask me” says the man sly behind his grin.

Sansa wanted to laugh. To make a fool of herself in front of this stranger over the few words he spoke for they mirrored her thoughts and jabbed her at the same time. It made her feel odd to behave as such, however silence behind the smile brought on a sort of serenity. She reckoned the lack of retorts so conditioned by her friends is what brought this about, this delightful meeting with a stranger. 

“I'm Sansa Stark” her hand is out ready to acquaint him.

“Littlefinger.” he replied sealing introductions with a shake.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit short. I've just returned from Japan and super exhausted, but I worked on this chapter and others for my other stories on here. So here it is. Of course there will be more to come from this but for now this is what I have. Please enjoy, and as always, leave comments if you have any. (:

* * *

 

Sansa had a dubious expression on her face reflected perfectly off his sunglasses. Ray-bans she noted.

John was a common name. Boring even, if thinking outside the box of normality was sought, but 'Littlefinger', is far from normal or common. Not Mark, Joseph, Steve, or any other biblical name parents seemed to gravitate to when all else failed. It wasn't the first unique name she's heard. Once she met a girl named 'Precious' which unanimous matched her family name, 'Prechuis'. She experimented the name in her thoughts. Rolled it around as she did with her coffee trying to get a taste of it, find the exact reason on his hand, or place it in some kind of formality. She failed. Instead her face soured, exposing how hard it was to swallow, however it didn't shy her away from conversation.

“Littlefinger...” she parroted his name “Did your mum and dad hate you?”

“Maybe” he smirked.

“That's not your real name is it?”

“No, but it's what I go by.”

“Right. Like some kind of James Bond?”

“I'm afraid I'm far from any secret service agent dear girl. Although finger guns were my weapon of choice against imaginative goons when I was a lad.”

Sansa finally broke into a small smile and had to look away covering her mouth as to not laugh too hard in front of this stranger. She didn't want to appear rude.

“What do you do then? Do you work for the government? Or at a store front?”

“I can't really say.”

“And not secret service? Because you're not really selling otherwise very good.”

“I'm not in the market to sell myself sadly.”

“What are you hiding?”

“Nothing at all.”

Sansa leered at the man“You're avoiding all my questions.”

“Actually I'm answering them. Very honestly too.”

“No you're not. You're only telling me short and incomplete answers.”

“You're not asking the right questions.”

“As opposed to the left? Because my questions are very direct.”

“Sarcasm isn't very cute” Littlefinger bit with flawless composure.

“Neither are your replies.”

“What do you suggest then?”

“I don't know, an actual conversation? Ask me a question and I'll show you a real answer.”

“What's your name?”

“But you already know my name, it's Sansa Stark, I told it to you earlier.”

“So you did.”

“Why not tell me your real name? I promise I won't laugh.”

“Intriguing offer you make. Though I believe you when you say you wouldn't laugh, you hardly had any amusement when I introduced myself at first. Last I saw that kind of expression, was on a dog after licking a lemon.”

Sansa dropped her smile

“Calling me a dog isn't very nice.”

“Nor is making a promise to a stranger you would have broken.” he countered still smirking. “Besides I didn't call you a dog, I only compared your expression to the likeness of one.”

If first impressions are the glue which helps build a book, then Sansa acknowledged that the pages of any friendliness or friendship between her and this man are chapters that would never make it in her book of life. He was rude—snobbish even. Not once did he remove his glasses so she could directly make eye contact. So what if they are outside? An awning covered them even though there was no sun and it was mid-autumn. He probably thought he is some kind of super star sitting there sipping his coffee in a slate gray Stanley Korshak suit. He may be wealthy, assuming, but having money did not equate to poor manners. Though Sansa knew she had her proud moments, she would never be disrespectful; her mother made sure of that. Sansa also decided she didn't like the way he spoke. He sounded too confident and direct. No one had ever spoken to her in the manner he had just done, let alone a man. Normally boys were sweet with their words, complimenting her about her hair or eyes, sometimes her clothes if they cared about fashion. This man did none of those. In fact, he spoke to her as if it were a game and claimed check-mate.

“For a man with no name you are quite rude.” Sansa stood from her seat, blood boiling.

“My apologies, I'm afraid when you are as old as I am, you sometimes forget your manners. Especially when most of your days are spent in front of stuffy old men whom like nothing better to do than talk business. Hardly do I have the honor of conversation with a beautiful young lady.” smoothly Littlefinger said requesting she stay with his hand towards the chair.

It felt like minutes before Sansa sat back down well against chagrin. The reality of her choice was she could stay here and try to figure the puzzle before her called 'Littlefinger', go home and deal with her mother, or hope to run into something half as interesting. Call it what you will, but she knew the answer when all weight shifted on her mental scale—she was only being stubborn about it and wanted to make him feel some sort of humility for his attitude. She hoped he did.

“I bet that mouth of yours gets you into some trouble.”

“I'd reckon just as much as yours.”

This time Sansa chuckled to herself. She couldn't be mad at him or his statement at that. In more ways than one, it was true and there was no denying the truth.

“Indeed you are right secret agent Littlefinger.”

They spoke about all sorts of things. Topics from fashion to movies, their favourite foods, and even the weather. Over time, Sansa discovered she rather enjoyed talking to this stranger. He offered her conversations she hardly would have brought up with her friends and things boys her age wouldn't go on about—they often talked longingly about sports or athletes they want to be—not the politics of which desinger would be the latest hit next season or innocent confessions of embarrassing food combinations. In-between small pauses he would notice her cup was low and would graciously request another for her. At first she declined his offers, Sansa didn't want him to spend more than necessary, and plus she had her own money if she wanted another, but after a good argument made on his part, she agreed they would take turns buying each other a cup and understood he probably won a lot of debates in his job.

Sansa's foot tapped from bouncing her leg. Not from caffeine, but from excitement. It was thrilling how unusual this was. Whenever she went on dates or hung out with friends it was always every girl for herself or guys trying to impress her with covering the bill as if flaunting their wealth would make her swoon. Never had anyone treated her on equal ground. Everything thus far seemed wonderful about their acquaintance except for his smile. His smile never changed. There was no difference between her or the servers when it came to his smile. It seemed—replicated—like on all the dolls she had as a child. Not his eyes or his teeth she has seen since the beginning of their conversation and some part of her wondered maybe it was only her that found their exchange fun. Fun.... That is a childish way of putting it. Maybe she was too immature? He did loosely mention his age previously. Actually, he was drinking his coffee black, no sugar or cream, his suit is extremely expensive and to her knowledge, only one store existed in Texas. His black hair was perfectly parted to the left and exposed little silver streaks down his side-burns which matched his five o'clock shadow along his face. Everything about him said, refined. Compared to her overly sugared coffee, over the shoulder thrown braid, and pan collared pastel blue dress from H&M, perhaps he was being nice. Maybe she should have put a little more thought into the way she looked before angrily leaving.

Littlefinger glanced at his Cartier watch during their break and sighed.

“Looks like time got the best of me. I have a meeting to catch and personally, I don't like being late to anything, regardless of fashionable exposure.” he winked to Sansa in jest.

“It's getting quite late isn't it?” she agreed though the sky implicated it is well over noon but not quite evening.

“So it is” Littlefinger stood.

“I'm sorry about earlier. My mother often says I inherited her temper” she bit her lip thoughtfully “I didn't mean to be rude. I doubt we will see each other ever again, but I wanted to apologize about it.”

Sansa also stood from their table, evaluating how tall she was to him. Which, estimable, an inch or half shorter than herself.

“It does sound off doesn't it? But I must say, Sansa is no common name either, or is Stark. I'm surprised Ned Stark would allow his daughter unchaperoned to have coffee with a stranger. Never thought I'd live to see the day”

“I think my parents are unconventional people. They may be in government positions, and in front of others seem like their parts, but at home we are all a silly mess. I bet my mum is probably yelling at my sister for dirtying her clothes about now, she's always messy and running away to play outside with my younger brothers wrestling in the dirt. One time they had the brilliant idea to dig a pit in the garden and mud wrestle. I thought they were going to hang. At least maybe they will tire her out like that time before getting to me. She'll still be furious, but not as vocal. Though my dad is likely to calm her down. He lets us get away with so much. ” Sansa laughed. She thought how all her siblings had uncommon names, except for maybe Jon and Rob. About her mother's face red from yelling at them while her father commanded peace calming Cat down. Despite how they irked her, Sansa could honestly say she loves her dysfunctional family. “Also it's not like he doesn't trust us. I'm not always accompanied with someone. I've gone out many times by myself before. This morning, after arguing with my mum, I wanted to get away.”

“Why not call one of your friends then? I'm sure their company would have been well received.”

“It's not that it wouldn't, I just didn't want to deal with them. They'd ask too many questions and then want to talk about things I wouldn't care to talk about exactly.”

“So you figured a stranger would be better and thus—you found me. I'm flattered”

“It wasn't my intention at first, but yes, you're right.”

“Your mother's wrath must be fearsome.”

“It can be. She's very protective of us. I suppose I earned it this time though. I get her standpoint, but—I don't know—I just want to live my life without regretting never doing something exciting. You read it all the time in books and see it in movies and I just—it's hard to explain.”

“Not really. We always want what we can't have. But never trying is where people fail, and it's those who don't that never get anywhere. Life—is full of risks. We must conquer those risks.”

With her cheeks warm with a mixture of embarrassment and validation, Sansa stared at her matching Chuck Taylor shoes and held her hands together looking every bit like an innocent girl at confession.

“I went to the club. The one everyone is talking about lately with all the rumors going around, Cage. Actually I tried to sneak in by lying. Luckily I was allowed in somehow. But I didn't stay for very long. I had a couple of drinks and left. Some people said it's a whore house, where illegal happenings take place, but to me it only looked like a club. A bit risque how the workers are dressed, but tasteful... Actually... It was very beautiful inside.”

“Your parents are right to be upset. That's no place a lady such as yourself should visit.” said Littlefinger evenly, but in no way reprimanding. “But now you know what it's like and are all the more wiser.”

Sansa pulled her Coach bag to sit on her shoulder as she held a hand out to shake Littlefinger's. Except this time she didn't feel at all a stranger towards him and even relished the warmth his hand offered against hers. With a smile she reluctantly let go hoping deep down in her heart they would get to meet again one day.

“Thank you for the coffee and company. Don't let those old men bother you too much and take care of yourself Littlefinger.”

“Likewise. This has been the highlight of my day” his confession caused her elation “And please offer my greetings to your parents.”

“Do you know them?”

“Doesn't everybody?” he said and walked out beyond the small patio iron fence without turning back to wave.

**Author's Note:**

> Just trying it out. Recently found myself in elmo hell for this ship, but I'll go down with it. Please let me know your opinions and if I should continue. If so, I will since I do have the outline and story plotted out.
> 
> Thanks!


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